Enzo heaved a sigh, the air whistling through his clenched teeth. With a practiced flick of his wrist, the pistol vanished back into his pocket. "Seems you answered well, signorina," he rasped, a grudging respect flickering in his eyes.
Relief washed over Bianca, a wave so sudden it almost stole her breath. One thought hammered in her mind: find Achille. Enzo, meanwhile, studied her for a long moment, his gaze as sharp as a stiletto. Finally, he relented, placing the skull reverently on a nearby table. He shuffled towards her, his movements slow and deliberate as he untied the ropes that bound her.
Bianca rubbed her sore wrists, never taking her eyes off Enzo. Once free, she straightened, her posture a stark contrast to his hunched form. "You know the darkness that clings to that thing," she said, her voice laced with steel. "Letting it go would be your only salvation."
Enzo's brow furrowed, but his gaze remained fixed on the skull, a haunted look creeping across his face. Before he could form a reply, Bianca slipped past him, a ghost in the flickering candlelight.
Left alone, Enzo slumped back into his chair, a wave of frustration washing over him. He'd let himself get distracted, the wily prey escaping once again. The worst part? She'd relieved him of his pistol. A wry smile touched his lips. Still, she'd likely run straight into Achille on her way out. No need to fret then. He crossed his leg, his gaze falling on the skull once more.
A deep sigh escaped his lips. "Adriana," he murmured, his voice barely a whisper, "for some reason, I just can't let you go." With that, he closed his eyes, the weight of the past pressing down on him like a tomb.
***
Bianca navigated the dimly lit labyrinth, the purloined pistol a cold weight in her hand. A wry smile played on her lips. Hopefully Enzo hadn't noticed his little "souvenir" was missing.
' Just borrowing it for a while,' she thought, the weight of the weapon a comforting presence in her unfamiliar surroundings.
Casting a fleeting glance back at the room she'd just escaped, she turned a corner, the grand staircase leading upwards a stark contrast to the dank corridors below. However, her ascent was short-lived. Reaching the second floor, Bianca found herself at a crossroads - a maze of identical, shadowy corridors branching out in all directions.
Frustration gnawed at her. How was she to find Achille in this building? "There are more corridors here than wrinkles on a Nonna's face," she muttered under her breath, the silence broken only by the echo of her own voice. Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, Bianca decided on a course of action. With a newfound resolve, she began her exploration, each step deliberate and silent. She pressed her ear against every doorway, searching for any sign of life.
The oppressive silence was broken only by the occasional groan of the ancient building. Each empty room she peeked into heightened her unease. "Strange," she thought, a furrow creasing her brow. "It feels like I'm the only soul in this place." After a fruitless search that stretched on for minutes, Bianca leaned against a cold stone wall, her breath coming in ragged gasps.
"If Achille isn't here," she mused, her voice barely a whisper, "he'll surely come looking for me." A plan began to form in her mind. Retracing her steps back to the corridor where she'd been held captive, Bianca found a dark alcove near the first room. Here, she shall hide, and have a clear view of anyone approaching. The stolen pistol felt reassuringly heavy in her hand, a small comfort in the vast emptiness. Settling into her position, Bianca focused her gaze on the corridor, a steely glint in her eyes. "He'll come this way eventually," she thought, a flicker of determination hardening her features.
***
A few minutes later, a car purred to a stop outside the safehouse. Achille emerged from the car, his tailored suit a stark contrast to the crumbling facade. He entered the safehouse, the dim light casting long shadows that danced across his face. With a confident stride, he navigated the corridor, his mind already swirling with thoughts of Bianca.
As Achille neared the spot Bianca hid, a familiar scent, intoxicating and distinctly feminine, snagged his senses. A wry smile played on his lips. 'No way it could be her,' he scoffed internally, taking a dramatic sniff of the air to pinpoint the source. A sigh escaped his lips, laced with amusement rather than frustration as he continued forward.
Suddenly, Bianca emerged from her hiding spot, the stolen pistol clutched in her hand. Achille stopped dead in his tracks, palms slowly rising in surrender. He met her gaze, a mixture of amusement and something deeper lingering in his eyes.
Bianca stalked closer, the pistol unwavering. Achille couldn't help but notice the glint of something metallic in her hand – Enzo's missing pistol, no doubt. A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
Bianca pressed forward, her finger tightening on the trigger like a viper coiling around its prey. The pistol, though aimed at Achille, wobbled slightly, betraying her shaky resolve. He saw it, a flicker of doubt in her fiery gaze. With a sly grin, Achille leaned back against the wall, arms casually crossed.
"Mia cara," he drawled, his voice a smooth baritone that sent a shiver down her spine, "such a lovely little gat. It's a shame you don't know how to use it properly. It looks rather comical in those delicate fingers, wouldn't you say?" He chuckled, a low, dangerous rumble that echoed in the dusty corridor.
Bianca's cheeks burned with a mixture of anger and embarrassment. She knew he was right. The gun felt foreign in her hand.
Just as he opened his mouth to speak again, Bianca pressed forward, her voice a husky whisper.
"Achille Selvaggio," she began, the gun held tight but her stance betraying a hint of vulnerability, "underboss of the infamous Selvaggio mafia family. I have a proposal for you, one rather beastly, shall we say?"
Achille raised an eyebrow, his dark eyes holding hers captive. He felt the graze of her knee against his thigh, sending a jolt of heat through him. A ghost of a smile played on his lips. "Is it more beastly than I am? Do tell, signorina," he purred, his voice devoid of the earlier amusement.
"It's a proposal..." she countered, her voice a low growl. "Perhaps more scandalous than you can imagine." She leaned in further, her right knee nudging suggestively between his legs. "Unless, of course, you prefer a more... traditional approach, Signor Selvaggio?"
Achille's smile widened, the predator in him awakened. He reached out, his hand finding the small of her back, pulling her flush against him. Bianca gasped, the pistol clattering harmlessly to the floor. Her arms instinctively wrapped around his neck, her emerald eyes widening in surprise. Was he seducing her? The question hung heavy in the air as their lips hovered a mere breath apart.
Achille felt a surge of heat pool in his loins as Bianca's soft curves pressed against him. Her deep sigh fanned the flames of his desire.
Achille's voice, a gravelly rasp, echoed Bianca's pause. "What kind of proposal, signorina?" he inquired again, the air thick with unspoken desire. His own breath hitched as he met her gaze. Her olive eyes, dilated to dark emeralds, held a mesmerizing intensity.
Bianca's smile was a slow, deliberate burn, like a lit cigarette dangling from ruby lips. "Perhaps not as beastly as you are," she purred, her voice a sultry whisper that sent shivers down his spine. "But I know why you kidnapped me, Signor. You know the truth. I, am the artist behind those paintings lining, my dearest father, Signore Moretti pockets." Her fingertips trailed up his neck, a litany of promises against his jawline. "The Moretti fortune rests on my talent, isn't that right?"
Achille's eyes narrowed, but a flicker of something akin to respect danced within them. So, Signore Moretti had a child "daughter" before he had Cristiano and Ariana? A revelation that sparked a dangerous glint in his own gaze. 'This is new information indeed.'
Her body pressed closer, a brazen heat radiating from her. Lush curves strained against his chest, her breath a warm caress against his neck. Pink lips, slightly parted, whispered a challenge. Desire clawed at him, his member a throbbing ache nestled against the soft barrier of her knee. Bianca's intoxicating scent, clouded his senses.
"I propose we join forces to take down my father's empire and reputation," she continued, her gaze unwavering. "I have information that will be valuable to you and together, we can ruin him. Then, Once we've achieved that..." her voice dropped to a bare murmur, "... I ask that you end my life."
Achille's mind reeled as his eyes widened for a moment. End her life? The absurdity of the request ripped a mocking laugh from his throat, echoing through the dimly lit corridor. "To kill you?" he scoffed, amusement laced with a hint of danger. "What kind of twisted game are you playing, signorina?"